George Weasley: Brother
by rizandace
Summary: A study of George, from beginning to end. Rated T for a few curse words and some heavy subject matter.


**Author's Note: I took this down for a few minutes to make some changes... sorry if that caused any confusion. I found some annoying typos so I had to fix them!****George Weasley, 1****st**** year.**

* * *

Percy was a git. Even at eleven years old, I could tell that much about my older brother. Bill agreed, in secret. Whenever he was home for more than a day he would start sighing and complaining under his breath about his thirteen-year-old little brother. See, Bill was the best of us. He was the strongest and the oldest and the one to be looked up to. Charlie was good, too. In his sixth year of Hogwarts, he was destined to be the greatest Quidditch player in the history of Gryffindor. Percy was third, and suffered from a serious case of middle-child syndrome. Made sense, I suppose. Bill had the hair, the job. Charlie had the Quidditch and the girls. Fred and I? We had the jokes. Even Ginny had something going for her – she was a girl, just like mum always wanted. So I suppose it made a bit of sense that Percy and Ron would be the two to grow up with chips on their shoulders.

Ron was only nine when Fred and I started at Hogwarts. He was too young to be a total snob, so we were stuck with Percy as our resident irritation.

"Charlie? You take care of your brothers, you hear?"

"_Mum_," Percy complained loudly. "I'm in the third year now. I don't need a babysitter any longer. If I want to focus on becoming a prefect in two years, I need to stop existing under Mr. Quidditch captain's shadow."

Our mother rolled her eyes affectionately, while Fred and I made gagging noises behind Percy's back at the mention of prefects. Bill was one. Percy was bound to be one. Fred and I? No way. Ever. But it was the way we wanted it.

"Hey! We gotta get good seats near the back," Fred said grabbing my shoulder.

"Boys!"

We wheeled around to face our mother, and let her kiss our cheeks once more. There was an uncomfortable stirring in the pit of my stomach that told me I would be homesick, but I wasn't about to say anything out loud. Just knowing that Fred felt it too was enough.

"We'll write!" Mum said tearfully, and I nodded and walked with Fred to the compartment door near the rear of the train.

"New adventure," Fred muttered.

"We're gonna own this place," I responded. I didn't have to look to know that Fred was holding out his hand for a high-five.

* * *

**George Weasley, 2****nd**** year.**

"Lee! Lee, get over here!" I called. Fred and I were hovered near the edge of a corridor, a bit of parchment held carefully under our noses. The Marauder's Map. Geniuses, honestly. Our predecessors in mischief had bequeathed it to us through the convenient go-between of Argus Filch's office, and we were the better men for it.

"What is it?" Lee whispered. Fred and I were best friends. Inseparable. But we were also very selfless young men, and Lee was the perfect side-kick to Fred and I and our mysterious ways.

"New passage. Well, not _new_, per say, but we just figured out how the map will tell us how to use it," Fred whispered back.

"Takes us straight into Honeydukes, by our calculations," I finished. Lee grinned so big that his white teeth stood out from his chocolate face.

It made be a little too twin-like of us, but Fred and I honestly did finish each other's thoughts most of the time. I'd like to think it was more a product of the insane amount of time we spent together, rather than some blood-bond.

Regardless, I could feel a scheme starting at the corner of Fred's lips, and I beat him through the punch.

"Wanna test it?" I said.

"Tonight?" Finished Fred.

* * *

**George Weasley, 3****rd**** year.**

"That was Harry Potter!" Fred kept saying it like a mantra, so I smacked him upside the head.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Aww, shut it, Georgie."

"Don't call me Georgie," I retorted, grinning. "Hey, looks like Ron's going to sit with him!"

"Aw, cool! Maybe they'll become best buds and we'll get to see him over the summer and stuff," Fred said, watching as Ron slid the compartment door open.

"Doubtful. Have you _met_ our little brother?"

"Fair enough," Fred smirked.

But still. I watched, them, and when the Sorting Hat yelled out Harry's name, Ron clapped enthusiastically, although he looked pale and nervous as hell about his own sorting.

But hey, not to worry, the wimpy little thing had Weasley blood. He fit right in. And he sat right next to Harry Potter.

...

Quidditch. Harry Potter was going to be playing Quidditch. With us!

Fred and I, we were the best beaters the world had ever seen. Or so I liked to think. This time, it really was the twin thing – the fact that we looked identical became an asset to us on the field. Our competitors would get confused, and that moment of whiplash when they wondered how a boy had flown across the entire field in the blink of an eye was enough for us to make our move.

We thought as one when we flew. And maybe we did on the ground, too. I never went through any sort of an identity crisis with Fred.

I was never worried that people didn't think of us as separate. Maybe that's because we weren't.

On the Quidditch field, the team things as one. Everyone becomes a cohesive unit. And damn, Potter was good. He was really good.

...

My little brother, chess champion. I can't tell you how terrified Fred and I were when the stories started to spread. And then in walked Ron, coming into the common room with a bandage wrapped around his head and the Granger girl at his side.

Mum would have been right proud of us – we rushed right over, full of questions.

"Ron!"

"Is it true?"

"How bad are you hurt?"

"How bad is Harry hurt?"

"That thing… about Quirrell… and the turban? Were you there? Did you see it?"

"Are you okay?"

And then Percy was there, adding his voice to the mix.

"I heard you behaved admirably, though I must say I'm disappointed you broke the rules in the first place."

"Aw, shove off," Fred said, nudging Percy out of the way so that the two of us could usher Ron into a chair.

The poor boy looked like Christmas had come early, and for the first time, I realized that maybe our little brother Ron was just a tad bit under appreciated. I could tell Fred was thinking the same.

* * *

**George Weasley, 4****th**** year.**

Harry Potter attracted trouble like some sort of magnet. Last year, it had been awe-inspiring. Last year, three eleven year olds had busted through a bunch of advanced spells like nothing, and stopped what was once the most powerful wizard of all time from rising again to power.

This year, it was just damn terrifying. And it was the worst if you weren't alone. The petrified people… they were scaring the crap out of Fred and I. I worried for myself, of course, but then there was everyone else. What if Fred was frozen? What if I had to exist without my twin for the better part of the year?

Percy? Sure, he was a twit, but it didn't mean I wanted him to get petrified. Just thinking about the complaining he was sure to do afterwards was giving me a headache-in-advance. And then there was Ron to think about. And Ginny, for that matter. Sweet little eleven-year-old Ginny, and Fred and I's protégé.

Because that girl was a firecracker, like you wouldn't believe.

Sure, my family made me smile. But at the end of the day, they were all weaknesses. Any one of them got hurt, and it would cripple me.

"Georgie?" We were alone, so I let Fred use the damn nickname, just this once.

"I'm worried," I muttered.

"Yeah. Me too."

Because yeah, we pulled pranks and made people laugh. But it didn't mean we were immune to worry.

...

Ginny. Ginny. Ginny Ginny Ginny.

Tiny little Ginny, with her freckles and that smile… she couldn't be. I wouldn't let her be.

"George, stop pacing, I swear to God."

"We can't _sit_ here, and do NOTHING!"I burst out. All of the rest of our house was out in the common room, but sitting out there with Ron and… and… and doing NOTHING! We had moved up to the dorm. No one would dare to follow us, I knew that much.

"God _damn_, it Fred! I need to be doing something! That's our sister! That's our baby sister!"

For the first time since hearing the news, I looked a little closer at my twin.

Tear tracks. I was instantly calm. Eerily calm.

"Fred…"

"Don't, George. She's my sister."

I understood. Like always.

* * *

**George Weasley, 5****th**** year.**

The Great Hall was alight with laughter and happiness, and it was easy enough to tell why. My brother Fred was mid-story. Whenever Fred spoke, or whenever I spoke, for that matter, the entire room stopped to listen. They weren't quiet – people shouted and yelled and clapped and interjected. But they were all listening. That was the most awesome thing about Fred and I. That was the most awesome thing about my brother.

Professor Remus Lupin was seriously the coolest teacher I had ever had. I actually didn't mind paying attention to him in class, because he didn't look at Fred and me as if we were some annoyance that he had to scrape off the bottom of his shoe.

He _knew_ things, too, you know? He knew how the universe worked. And only a few weeks in to the school year, we got to face up to a boggart.

Nobody had had the best luck with Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. I think the alleged curse dated back far before any of us Weasley children went to the school, but the point was that nobody had actually taught us much before.

The boggart was cool. The boggart was a challenge. The boggart was terrifying. Fred was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet by my side, and the room was filled with excited whispers.

We were in our fifth year, and the most exciting thing we had done to date was make fun of Quirrell for his turban or watch Lockhart make a fool of himself.

I think I was more nervous than most because I didn't have a clue what to expect. People formed a line, and I watched as students – both friends from Gryffindor and acquaintances from Hufflepuff – went up to face their greatest fear. But I had no idea what mine was.

One girl was terrified of spiders (like Ron, I thought with a wicked little grin). Lee saw a vampire, and Angelina from the Quidditch team saw a huge snake.

I was in line just before Fred. He was standing right behind me, eager for his own turn. The girl before me changed the ghost of the bloody baron into something less frightening, but I hardly paid any attention, because nerves were bubbling up from my stomach. Fred nudged me forward. I could feel the heat of him directly behind me, but even that reality didn't stop me from crying out when I saw the shape that the boggart assumed.

Because it wasn't a boggart. It was my brother. It was Fred, with a trickle of blood running down the side of his face. His eyes open. Gaping. Unseeing. Frozen. Dead.

"Fred!" I gasped. Someone was gripping my arm from behind, so tightly that it hurt, but there was a rushing noise in my ears and I couldn't think straight.

"Georgie? Georgie I'm fine! I'm right here!" It was Fred, speaking to me. But no. It wasn't. Fred was gone. Fred was lying in front of me…

And then his body was gone. I glanced around frantically for him, and saw him behind me, full and breathing. Reality snapped back like a rubber band, and I stumbled. Fred was there to catch me. As always.

Later, he wanted to talk about it.

I didn't.

"I know what mine would have been," he said quietly, coming to sit behind me. I had holed up in the dormitory after dinner, humiliated by the stares. Lupin had shut down class after my embarrassing attempt.

"Look, George… don't. No one is out there making fun of you. They all think…" Fred paused, and shifted so that he was facing me more directly. I kept staring at the floor.

"Everyone else in that room – they were scared of stupid stuff. Like… the dark. Monsters under the bed. Stupid. And, I mean, I'd be scared of vampires too. Or trolls, or whatever else. But my greatest fear?"

I glanced up at him, waiting. "Definitely losing my brother."

And yeah, I'll admit. We hugged, okay?

* * *

**George Weasley, 6****th**** year.**

The frickin' frackin' Triwizard Tournament. And we were only off by a few stupid months! Months! Fred seethed at the injustice of it all, pacing the dorm room. I was in a similar tirade.

"Aging potions!" I shot out desperately.

Fred considered. "Could work!"

It didn't, of course. You know, the funniest thing about the whole experience when I thought about it later? It never occurred to me that only one of us could have won. That – if we had been of age, only one of our names could have come out of that cup. It was the sort of thing I couldn't have done with Fred by my side. It was the sort of thing we both would have had to face alone.

Again, it was Harry Potter that took all the… I didn't want to say glory, because even though I hadn't been there, I closed my eyes and saw Cedric Diggory's face branded into my eyelids.

And then – I didn't think it was possible to find anything good in what had happened during that stupid Triwizard tournament. Harry accomplished it, somehow.

Gold. The winnings. Our joke shop. Fred and I? It was totally on.

* * *

**George Weasley, 7****th**** year.**

I wasn't a hater, at heart. Fred and I were similar that way, in that we usually were able to find some sort of good in everyone. Percy, the foul little git, was still good for a verbal punching bag. Malfoy? Well, I'd be hard pressed to find something positive to say, but it was fun to tease the little prat.

Dolores Umbridge? No. Nothing at all good about that.

For the first time, Peeves found allies in students. I wasn't about to stand by and let that horrible toad take over my school. So we worked on our joke shop merchandise, and when it was perfected, let it loose.

The only thing about Hogwarts that was even worth it for most of the year were the Quidditch matches, and Umbridge found a way to take that away from us too.

I left Peeves the task of giving Umbridge hell, which I knew he would take to heart. I knew that I was leaving my school, _our_ school, in good hands. Harry was there. Ron was there. Hermione was there to offset the ridiculousness of everyone else. Lee was there, and the rest of the DA was there. I owed Harry my education in defense, and I wasn't about to waste these next few months under the oppression of a bitchy old lady like Dolores Umbridge.

Adios, Hogwarts. Time for a new adventure.

* * *

**George Weasley, fresh out of school.**

Fred and I were finally doing what we wanted. Our apartment was small and dingy; our lives were compact and difficult. But we were doing something.

Our mother might not believe that running a joke shop was noble work, but Fred and I? We knew differently. We knew that times were dark, and things were hard, and people wanted – _needed_ – to escape from that sometimes. And damn it all if we weren't going to let them.

We were helping, too. We had detection devices and fancy detonators. And they were selling. And we were making money. It was too frickin' good to be true.

Harry Potter was a good young man. He was funny, relatively smart, and one of the best friends for Ron imaginable. And it seemed, that after saving my sister, after saving my father, after allowing Fred and I to accomplish our dream… I now owed him Ron's life as well.

"Jesus, Fred…" I muttered later that night. We had just gotten back from seeing our littlest brother, lying in the hospital wing.

"I know."

"It's too close. To us. Too close. It's been this way. Too long."

"I know."

"I hate this. It's not _fair_. Why did we pick _this_ fuckin' time period to grow up in? Everything's chaos!"

"I know."

"Stop saying that!"

Fred sighed and folded in on himself, settling himself on the floor. "He's alive, George. Ron's alive. And it's thanks to Harry. Again."

"But it's too close .That's three. That's _three_. Remember Ginny? Remember Dad? How the hell are you so calm right now?"

Fred actually laughed. It was a bitter sound, full of sorrow and spite. "Calm? You think I'm calm? We almost lost Ron. You think I don't _get_ that, or something? Our lives are falling down around our ears, and you know the worst part?"

I looked at him, sitting there. He seemed suddenly so small. Was that what I looked like to the rest of the world?

"What? What's the worst part?"

"People expect us, the Weasley Twins, to still be happy."

I blinked, and sat down next to him. Because as ridiculous as his statement was… he was right.

* * *

**George Weasley, earless.**

I was with my father when it happened. When I was a little boy, my dad was always there. I don't know how that's possible. He had three older kids and my twin to contend with, plus a wife, pregnant with a sixth child. Somehow, though, he was always there. And my dad was easy to mess with, it was true enough. But when I was with him, I was safe.

Except for the day that I wasn't. He patted me on the shoulder and grabbed Fred's arm. I went with Lupin. It might seem stupid or wimp-like, but I was nervous enough as it was, being separated from Fred during the most dangerous moment of my life.

He was nervous too, and neither one of us needed to say it. All I could do was hold on tight, and pray that when I arrived back home, it would be to the good news that my brother was alive and well. For that matter, I had Bill and Ron to worry about too. All in all, I was freaked.

"Ready to risk our lives?" Fred asked, with a totally forced pretense of calm.

"Sure. No problem."

Fred smiled cheekily at me and went to tip back the polyjuice potion that would transform him into Harry for a while.

"Wait," I demanded, grabbing his wrist.

He stared at me, curious.

"I'll see you. At home? I'll see you."

Fred met my eyes and nodded. Dead serious. "I'll see you. Soon."

...

I was swimming in a sea of voices.

"George! George!" At first, it was a babble. Then, there was my name. Soon, I began to pick out voices.

My mum... Ginny. But no Bill or Ron or Dad. And no Fred. I couldn't peal my eyes open. I couldn't do it. Ow. Pain.

And then – My mum's voice. "Arthur! Oh thank goodness!" That meant Fred should be back too. But… where was he? Why wasn't he saying anything?

I forced my eyes open. Fred was staring down at me, his face twisted into complete and utter disbelief. Horror. I remembered the boggarts from our fifth year.

"How do you feel, Georgie?" my mum asked. I kept my eyes on Fred's. Time to lighten the mood a bit.

"Saintlike," I murmured. Fred's eyes widened even further.

"What's wrong with him?" Frantic. "Is his mind affected?"

"Saintlike," I said again, trying to get rid of that look on his face. "You see… I'm holy. _Holey_." He still looked terrified. "Fred, geddit?"

My mother burst into tears. Color flooded Fred's face and he collapsed next to me.

"Pathetic," he said, but his voice was shaking. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for _holey_?"

But I saw it. There in his eyes. His worst fear.

* * *

**George Weasley, the battle at Hogwarts.**

The moment my brother died, I wasn't with him. I don't know how it was that we even got separated in the first place. That was rule one in war survival tactics for me and Fred. Stick. Together. We'd done it since infancy.

And I wasn't even there.

My family had all agreed. The rendezvous spot was to be the great hall. And so when the fighting had finally died down a bit, I rushed there. I needed to know if everyone was okay. Ron. Harry. Hermione. Mom. Dad. Ginny. Percy. Bill. Fred. I needed to know. But there's one thing that they tell you about twins. And it's absolutely true.

You already know.

* * *

**George Weasley.**

I eventually "recovered". That's what they call it. My family and I? We picked up. Ron had Hermione. Ginny had Harry. Bill had Fleur. Charlie met someone. Even Percy ended up married. Me? I lost my twin brother.

I thought that meant losing everything.

But if you go into Diagon Ally, a proud and boisterous shop still reigns over all other joke shops in the area. Fred would have totally kicked my ass if I'd thrown in the towel.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed it... My fuel, so to speak, for writing, really is reviews. Anything you have to say would be welcome, even if it's just to tell me that you hated it. The more I think people actually care about my stories (one way or another) the more I'll be motivated to write. Thanks!


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